Molcajete

Gloria had a picture of a molcajete on her blog today.

The hand held grinder made of basalt

And it's funny how many childhood memories flooded back just looking at that picture

 I could 'see' the colors of the red chiles being ground under the tejolote

And 'feel' the scratchiness in my throat

How my eyes watered when I stood too close as the chile released its aroma

I could 'hear' the grinding of stone against stone

My Dad saying chile wasn't chile unless it was made in the molcajete
The clack clack clack as I watched my Mama expertly flick her wrist

Reminding me never to grind anything other than chile

because the molcajete retains the flavors no matter how much it's cleaned

~And I smiled~

Then my brow wrinkled and my smile faded

And I remembered how that molcajete was often the only thing

that didn't break during those dreaded evenings

where everything on the table would get caught up in the frenzy of drunken disturbance

How it would be the only one who survived intact

Picking it up off the floor, feeling its strength

As if to say

I refuse to be broken

And I thought

I am like a molcajete

My past and present ground within the pores seasoning my present and future

My life is not linear

Everything that has happened, is happening and will happen

all ingredients mixed and ground to form me

I'm not a plastic molcajete as I've seen in the store

Or the cheap concrete knockoff

I am the porous basalt

experiencing life

and I'm strong

molcajete and tejolote

photo from Wikipedia



~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Totally unexpected post

Thanks Gloria for the memory

Do you see why I don't cook?

Too many stories....way too distracted

tee hee